Read Online The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4) by Johan Theorin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Johan Theorin
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juniper bush and viper’s bugloss. His father used to own the third plot at the southern end, but that was several years ago, before he got involved in some business that didn’t go too well. His summer cottage had been sold, and Jonas noticed that the new owners had put up a fence to separate the place from Villa Kloss.
He was hungry, and hoped there would be something to eat in Uncle Kent’s kitchen.
A wide, gravelled path led past the pool to the main house. The water looked warm and clear, but hardly anyone ever swam in it. The adults never seemed to have time, and Jonas thought it was more fun to go down to the shore. It was somehow wilder down there, with flat rocks and seaweed and tiny shrimps swimming around your legs.
He went up the steps to the wooden decking at the front of the house. This would be Jonas’s workplace for the next few weeks, along with Veronica’s decking. His job was to sand down all the planks, then oil them. His wages would be thirty-five kronor an hour. That was a lot of money – Jonas had said yes straight away.
Uncle Kent’s house was long and wide, with huge panoramic windows at the front. There was also a sliding glass door; Jonas pushed it to one side and went in. He had always thought that walking into this cool room felt like stepping into the command module in a huge spaceship. Not that he had ever done such a thing, but this was what it ought to look like: a rectangular room with enormous windows and electronic gadgets everywhere. There were rows of tiny lights on the ceiling and an impressive stereo next to an even bigger TV, both connected to black speakers built into the wall.
Kent’s golf bag was on the right, next to a treadmill, and beyond that lay the entrance to the kitchen, which was every bit as shiny and metallic as the living room. Various things were humming and flashing in there.
Uncle Kent had employed a young housekeeper from Russia or Poland this summer; she was standing by the worktop, where she had laid out an array of breakfast food: bread, butter, juice, eggs, fruit and four kinds of cereal.
Jonas stared. He was glad he was alone right now, because back home in Huskvarna he always had to wait until Mats had finished helping himself. Now he could just dive right in. He picked up a blue bowl, filled it with cornflakes and milk and sat down on the biggest of Uncle Kent’s black leather sofas. He had a fantastic view of the coast from here: the stony garden, the coast road, the sea and the burial cairn up on the edge of the cliff.
After about fifteen minutes the sliding door opened and Aunt Veronica came in.
‘Good morning, Jonas. Did you sleep well?’
She was already dressed, in a black business suit and red shoes.
Jonas chewed, swallowed and nodded.
‘Mmm.’
‘Are Kent and Niklas here?’
‘I haven’t seen anyone,’ Jonas replied.
‘I expect they’re out jogging,’ Veronica said with a smile.
In the winter Veronica lived in Stockholm with Urban, who was eighteen, and Casper, who was fifteen, and their father, but in the summer she lived here at Villa Kloss; she was the managing director of the Ölandic Resort. She never took any time off during the period when the complex was open, from the end of May to the beginning of September.
‘So what are you going to do today, Jonas? Do you have any plans for the summer?’
He looked out at the wooden decking and nodded.
‘I’m going to make a start on rubbing down the decking.’
‘Not today. It’s Midsummer’s Day, and almost everyone is off work. You, too, Jonas. You’re on holiday.’
That sounded good.
Holiday, Jonas thought. Not a break from school. He hadn’t even started work yet, but he was already on
holiday
, like a grown-up.
Lisa
The Ölandic Resort was a couple of kilometres south of Stenvik and was owned by the Kloss family. Lisa was also working at the resort this summer, and she drove down there at lunchtime to get things ready.
At the entrance there was a
He was hungry, and hoped there would be something to eat in Uncle Kent’s kitchen.
A wide, gravelled path led past the pool to the main house. The water looked warm and clear, but hardly anyone ever swam in it. The adults never seemed to have time, and Jonas thought it was more fun to go down to the shore. It was somehow wilder down there, with flat rocks and seaweed and tiny shrimps swimming around your legs.
He went up the steps to the wooden decking at the front of the house. This would be Jonas’s workplace for the next few weeks, along with Veronica’s decking. His job was to sand down all the planks, then oil them. His wages would be thirty-five kronor an hour. That was a lot of money – Jonas had said yes straight away.
Uncle Kent’s house was long and wide, with huge panoramic windows at the front. There was also a sliding glass door; Jonas pushed it to one side and went in. He had always thought that walking into this cool room felt like stepping into the command module in a huge spaceship. Not that he had ever done such a thing, but this was what it ought to look like: a rectangular room with enormous windows and electronic gadgets everywhere. There were rows of tiny lights on the ceiling and an impressive stereo next to an even bigger TV, both connected to black speakers built into the wall.
Kent’s golf bag was on the right, next to a treadmill, and beyond that lay the entrance to the kitchen, which was every bit as shiny and metallic as the living room. Various things were humming and flashing in there.
Uncle Kent had employed a young housekeeper from Russia or Poland this summer; she was standing by the worktop, where she had laid out an array of breakfast food: bread, butter, juice, eggs, fruit and four kinds of cereal.
Jonas stared. He was glad he was alone right now, because back home in Huskvarna he always had to wait until Mats had finished helping himself. Now he could just dive right in. He picked up a blue bowl, filled it with cornflakes and milk and sat down on the biggest of Uncle Kent’s black leather sofas. He had a fantastic view of the coast from here: the stony garden, the coast road, the sea and the burial cairn up on the edge of the cliff.
After about fifteen minutes the sliding door opened and Aunt Veronica came in.
‘Good morning, Jonas. Did you sleep well?’
She was already dressed, in a black business suit and red shoes.
Jonas chewed, swallowed and nodded.
‘Mmm.’
‘Are Kent and Niklas here?’
‘I haven’t seen anyone,’ Jonas replied.
‘I expect they’re out jogging,’ Veronica said with a smile.
In the winter Veronica lived in Stockholm with Urban, who was eighteen, and Casper, who was fifteen, and their father, but in the summer she lived here at Villa Kloss; she was the managing director of the Ölandic Resort. She never took any time off during the period when the complex was open, from the end of May to the beginning of September.
‘So what are you going to do today, Jonas? Do you have any plans for the summer?’
He looked out at the wooden decking and nodded.
‘I’m going to make a start on rubbing down the decking.’
‘Not today. It’s Midsummer’s Day, and almost everyone is off work. You, too, Jonas. You’re on holiday.’
That sounded good.
Holiday, Jonas thought. Not a break from school. He hadn’t even started work yet, but he was already on
holiday
, like a grown-up.
Lisa
The Ölandic Resort was a couple of kilometres south of Stenvik and was owned by the Kloss family. Lisa was also working at the resort this summer, and she drove down there at lunchtime to get things ready.
At the entrance there was a
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